To you: Mr. Sunshine.

Today you are eight month’s old. I have never written any of your progress or milestone’s here and I fear I will forget, what with my already terrible memory. 

You started daycare this week and blew them out of the water. Way to prove me wrong buddy! I don’t know why I thought you would do anything but spectacular, you are after all, my child. One of your teachers, Miss Leticia told me she has never seen a baby so happy on their first day of daycare. It was probably just smoke being blown up my ass but, I’ll take it. You are spectacular, my child. That grin of yours is never-ending from the moment I drop you off until the time I pick you up.

The feeling in my stomach tells me you inherited your Daddy’s entertainer gene. Already at eight months, you feel it your duty to charm the masses. If a good beat comes on the TV or a good song comes on the iPod, you pump up the jams, man. Pretty soon, you’ll be in some club somewhere cruisin’ the laydeez and fist pumping with your buds. You’ve got the rhythm my friend. I can assure you that you are taking your own sweet ass time with the whole mobility thing. Crawling? That shit is for amatuers. You’d much rather be toted around. To the frustration of your Daddy, I am more than happy to oblige you.

You are wearing clothes ranging from 18 months – 2T. Monster baby. Just so you know, people can only hold you for a maximum of 5 minutes before their arms fall off. True story. Your Daddy and I have gotten pretty good at it though. At your last doctor’s appointment over a month ago, you weighed 24 pounds so yeah, probably 26 now. You were sleeping like a champ up until just a few nights ago. What the hell brah? Last night you did not sleep, at all. You screamed like a lunatic for hours, burped and passed out. It was awesomesauce. Me? I’ve had four, FOUR! cups of coffee today.

I am still diligently making you “home food” as they call it at school. At this point, there is pretty much nothing you don’t like. In the last week you’ve really started taking interest in our food. So far you’ve tried ground turkey, broccoli and jello. If you grow up and don’t know what to do in a kitchen, I have failed you. You sit in your high-chair for HOURS while I’m cooking/cleaning. Tell your future wife I said, you are welcome!

I have seen so many developments in you these past few days, pulling up and standing while only holding on to my fingers, desperatly trying to get puffs from your hand to your mouth, dragging your back half around (before getting exhausted and just laying there.) The other night you almost took a header off the couch trying to grab the remote (which by the way? YOUR FAVE!)

Grandma Nani is pretty much your favorite person, ever. You are enthralled with the way she talks, either that or you are just trying to figure out what the hell she is saying. It’s okay buddy, we can’t figure it out either. You resemble her so much, I see her in you everytime I look at you.

Three days in and I already had a report from your school that you had a girlfriend. Sammi is her name. I kind of wish you would hold off on the girlfriends until I can take a concealed handgun course but, if push comes to shove. A baseball bat wielding mother is just as effective.




Mardi Gras beads really do the trick if you are in a bad mood. (That doesn’t bode well for the kind of things you’ll be into when you are older, if you know what I mean. No you are not ever allowed to go to New Orleans.)

Last night as you were screaming wildly in my ear, I tried to remember the time before you. I couldn’t. Life was not life before you. I love you very much Boog.

My wish for you is to reach the moon and stars and to be happy on the journey.

I am having the time of my life watching you grow.


~ by Kendall on January 20, 2011.

2 Responses to “To you: Mr. Sunshine.”

  1. Love. You should write more- you’re really good!

  2. He is absolutely adorable! I’m glad daycare is going better than you expected…it’s so hard to introduce a change like that, but I feel like, most of the time, it ends up being harder on the mom than the baby 🙂

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